


The Blood of a Lamb

by xUnchartedDreams



Category: Christian Bible, South Park
Genre: Angst, Biblical Themes (Abrahamic Religions), Homosexuality, M/M, Multi, Other, Psychological Drama, Psychological Warfare, Temptation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24893206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xUnchartedDreams/pseuds/xUnchartedDreams
Summary: “Do you still believe in that Jewish God of yours, Kyle?”“What are you getting at?” Kyle demands.“Answer the question.”AKA: Cartman makes a deal with the Devil and wrecks havoc upon South Park.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 38
Kudos: 93





	1. Genesis 3:1 // lead me on //

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genesis 3:1  
> ,,Now the serpent was more crafty than any other beast of the field that the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, ‘Did God actually say, You shall not eat of any tree in the garden?’”

Author’s note: Alright, so... this is a bit different from anything I’ve written in the past. It’s a project that I’ve had on my mind for many months now though. I really have no idea how frequently I’ll be able to update this story, but I’ll try as often as possible. 

TO THOSE OUT THERE WHO QUESTION MY SANITY: I am _fully_ aware that the American animated sitcom, South Park, created by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, is a _comedy_, and I acknowledge that the endless amount of shipping and/or serious fanworks that exist in the fandom goes against everything Matt and Trey were trying to do with their characters. THAT BEING SAID: The amount of talent that exists behind those sorts of fanworks is ridiculous, and are what ultimately inspired me to try and write one of my own. I truly love a lot of what the South Park fandom has produced, even though it’s something Trey and Matt definitely never intended for their characters. And I don’t feel an ounce of shame for it. Fandom is an fascinating phenomenon that can be picked apart and analyzed, but when you really boil down to it, it’s just fucking fun. Yeah, you thought I was gonna give some heartwarming speech? Please. I grew up watching South Park since I was eight for a reason. (Also, because I know someone will ask; I’m currently in my twenties. Howdy ho.)

There will be many references to the Hebrew Bible in this fic. Scratch that, the entire fic practically centers around it. Just a head’s up. 

This fic will be dark, although to what extent, I haven’t figured out. Hence why I’ve chosen not to use archive warnings; for the time being, at least.

Also, Satan and God in this fanfiction are NOT the ones portrayed in the show of South Park.

This story takes place within South Park; only our beloved potty-mouthed fourth-graders aren't in elementary school anymore. They're in high-school. 

* * *

  
  
  


Two weeks have passed since Cartman went missing. 

Considering it’s _him_ of all people that’s gone, Kyle wants to say that he doesn’t care. He _wants_ to. That South Park’s better off without him, and that the fatass probably deserved whatever happened to him. 

But Kyle can’t. 

Cartman is by no means Kyle’s friend— but the two of them have known each other and stuck by each other’s sides since they were kids, for crying out loud. 

While he certainly hasn’t lost sleep over Cartman’s disappearance, it’d be pretty messed up for him not to care even a _little._

“Kyle, are you okay?” 

“Huh?” 

“Were you even listening to a thing I just said?” Stan snaps. “You told me you’d lend me _John’s Letter_ after school was over.” 

Kyle sighs and rubs his temples. Of course Stan would be asking for that book of his. Kyle promised he’d hand Stan the book _John’s Letter_ the second they finished school for the day and once they were standing in front of its entrance. 

“Sorry,” he says tersely, and pulls out the aforementioned book and hands it to him. “I was thinking about something and got lost in thought.” 

“About what?” Stan inquires as they start walking away from the school building. 

“Cartman.” Kyle says without missing a beat.

Stan stops in his tracks. Kyle blinks. 

“What?”

“I didn’t expect _you_ of all people to be worried about _him_.” Stan says in a daze. 

“I’m not worried,” Kyle denies fiercely.

Stan doesn’t look convinced. “Right. That look on your face earlier on says otherwise.” 

Kyle groans and facepalms. 

“Can you blame me? Yes, he’s a sociopathic fat megalomaniac who’s done everything in his power to make my life miserable in the time we’ve known each other, but...”

“It’s weird not having him around.” Stan finishes. 

Kyle nods. 

“I feel the same way,” Stan admits. He pauses. “Do you want him to come back?” 

“No.” Kyle says resolutely. “I’m good without him always trying to ruin my life, thank you very much.” A twinge of guilt he feels deep inside him then prompts him to say, “But, I wish I at least knew what happened to him.” _And if he’s okay, at least._ But he won’t say that last part out loud. 

“Same.” Stan says. 

* * *

An unknown number calls Kyle’s cellphone later that night and awakens him from his slumber. 

“Kyle.”

Kyle instantly recognizes the voice. 

“C-Cartman?” Kyle exclaims in shock. 

There’s only silence on the other end of the line. 

A plethora of emotions suddenly explode in Kyle’s soul. 

“Where have you been?! Did somebody kidnap you? Are you hurt?!”

There are shuffling sounds on the other side of the phone before Cartman speaks. 

“I needed some time alone. Away from the rest of the world.”

“Are you okay?” Kyle asks before he can stop himself. 

“I’m better than okay,” Cartman drawls, “I’ll be back home in a couple hours.”

Anger takes full-control of Kyle as he remembers the sort of person he’s dealing with. 

“You’re awful,” Kyle snarls, “You can’t just up and disappear and then come back like nothing’s wrong. Your mom has been worried sick about you!”

Cartman chuckles. 

“What about you, Kyle? Have you been worried about me?”

“F*** you.” Kyle replies heatedly. 

A laugh is heard from Cartman’s part. 

“I’m hanging up now,” Kyle says angrily. “Next time you pull a stunt like that, don’t bother calling me.”

“Wait. I called you for a reason.”

“And that is?”

“To tell you why I’ve been gone.” He says darkly. “I needed time alone from the rest of the world to figure out my views on life.”

“You don’t need to disappear for you to do that, Cartman.” Kyle spits. “You’re eighteen for Christ’s sake, and yet you still act like such a spoiled child…” 

Kyle’s words fall completely deaf on Cartman’s ears, and when he speaks, it’s as though he hasn’t registered Kyle’s words.

“Do you still believe in that Jewish God of yours, Kyle?”

“What are you getting at?” Kyle demands. 

“Answer the question.”

Kyle hangs up the phone.

  
  



	2. Genesis 3:5 // undisclosed desires //

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genesis 3:5  
> ,,For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

_That asshole,_ Kyle thinks to himself angrily as he readjusts himself into his bed, and part of him is angry at _himself_ for getting so riled up at Cartman’s provocative question. He’s glad he at least hung up though; had he taken Cartman’s bait and answered the fatass’ question, Kyle would have only left himself open to further harassment from Cartman’s part. 

If there’s something Kyle’s learned about his faith by now, it’s that, the only thing he really believes in as a Jew, is honing some aspects of his people’s’ tradition out of respect for his family, such as Hannukah and other Jewish holidays. Overtime though— he’s learned that everything else about being a Jew—- he couldn’t care less for, and views as pointless. Especially the idea of believing in— as Cartman put it—“a Jewish God”.

And it’s fair to say that there are times he wishes that he’d never even _been_ born a Jew, as it could have spared him from Cartman’s relentless torment throughout the years. 

So, with all that said— Cartman’s question shouldn’t have really gotten under Kyle’s skin. In itself, it was harmless. 

It was something to be expected out of Cartman, not unusual of him. 

But Kyle’s just so sick to _death_ of Cartman’s villainous ways, and him always finding ways to taunt Kyle and his people. 

And to think—- for a moment, when Kyle realized it was Cartman he was talking to over the phone, the redhead was almost _relieved_ that everything was okay with the fat sack of s*it. 

Kyle’s an idiot. 

On the bright side, at least it’s safe to say that Cartman is a bigger idiot. What kind of moron disappears without saying a word for two weeks to “figure out their views on life”? ... Assuming the fat lard was telling the truth as to why he disappeared, that is. 

Not to mention, by the way Cartman was speaking to Kyle, it’s likely whatever “views on life” Cartman has gained is no good. 

Kyle rubs his forehead and exhales. Should he do something, like call the police station, or Cartman’s mother? Did they even know that he’s okay? Letting someone else know that all was well with the bastard seems the morally right thing to do, now that he’s returned. 

But it’s C a r t m a n, of all people. 

And the fatass’ mocking question still rings in Kyle’s head. 

Furrowing his brow, Kyle slumps back onto his bed and shuts his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep. He’ll think about what to do in the morning. He can’t think straight right now, he’s exhausted. 

* * *

The next morning, Kyle is awoken by the sound of his cellphone ringing. 

“Hello?” Kyle says drearily, half-asleep. What time is it, anyway? It’s definitely not a time he’d normally be waking up on a Saturday morning. Who in their right mind would call him this early? 

“Hiya Kyle, did you hear?” It’s _Butters._ “Eric’s back! He’s all over the news.” 

Kyle groans. “You woke me up at this hour just to tell me _that_?” 

“What do you mean? It’s already 9AM.” Butters replies innocently. 

“I don’t know what planet you live on, Butters, but most seniors in high school sleep ‘till like, 2PM on weekends.” Kyle deadpans. Then again, Kyle shouldn’t be surprised that Butters is up this early— it’s _Butters_ , after all. 

“Ah,” Butters says sheepishly. “That explains why the rest of the people I’ve been calling to spread the news haven’t been answering.” 

Kyle wants to sigh at Butters’ naivety, but he’s grown accustomed to it by now. 

Butters is silent for a bit, before he says, “Still... isn’t the fact that Eric’s back a big deal?” 

“The guy has humiliated, tormented, and nearly killed me on multiple occasions for more than a decade now.” Kyle replies tartly, and then exhales in defeat. “So yes. I’d say his return is a big deal.” 

* * *

After Kyle finishes his conversation with Butters, he turns off his phone and falls back onto his bed. 

Now that Cartman’s _officially_ returned, Kyle might as well enjoy the simple pleasures of life, like sleeping, while he can. 

He doesn’t even get _that_ opportunity. 

“Kyle!” His mother Shiela knocks on Kyle’s door. 

“Your friend Eric is here to see you!” 

Kyle’s eyes shoot open. 

No. 

No, no, no. 

Just... why? 

This couldn’t be happening. 

The fatass _just_ returned to South Park after a two week disappearance! Why is the first thing he’s doing is showing up to Kyle’s house!?

What could the bastard have up his sleeve this time?!?

In an instant, Kyle bolts to his feet and presses the door with both of his hands and right knee, using the force of his entire body so that his mother doesn’t open it. 

“Not now, Mom!” Kyle gasps in panic. He hears his mother scoff on the other side of the door. 

“Kyle, don’t be rude.” 

Damn, his mother is strong. With the way she’s trying to force the door open, Kyle’s barely keeping it shut.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t put up a fight. He doesn’t _want_ Cartman here. Hell, he didn’t even want Cartman to come back at _all_ to begin with! 

Outright telling his mother Cartman’s presence isn’t welcome won’t work, Kyle knows. Despite the fatass’ glaring idiocy at times, Cartman has proven himself to be masterful at manipulation given the right circumstances. Knowing him, he’s probably currently doning a polite facade, and considering he’d been missing for two weeks, used that to further gain sympathy from Kyle’s mother Shiela, who then allowed him into Kyle’s house. 

_Dammit... what should I do?_ Kyle thinks to himself. _If only I had a lock on this door!_

“I can’t leave right now, Mom, I’m uh...” he pauses. “Naked!” Kyle wants to slap himself. Seriously... _that’s_ the excuse he came up with?! 

His mom relents and stops trying to open the door. “Well, then get dressed and come out, Kyle! You can’t keep your guest waiting all day.” 

Kyle swallows. 

_What should I do?!_

He tries to think of multiple ways of how he can avoid meeting Cartman… but he knows it’s futile. 

He’s just gonna have to go through with it. 

* * *

A minute later, a now fully dressed Kyle reluctantly opens the door. 

Kyle’s gaze is fixated firmly on the ground as he does so, though. He’s not going to do the fat bastard any favors by looking at him. 

“Hey.” Kyle grumbles. 

“Hi, Kyle.” Cartman says smoothly. Kyle almost gags at hearing his voice— Kyle almost forgot how it sounded like, and hearing it again only reminds him that Cartman’s presence is here to stay in South Park, whether Kyle likes it or not. 

“Oh no, I left the stove on!” Shiela shrieks suddenly out of nowhere, and begins bolting down the hallway and down the stairs. Kyle’s eyes widen. 

“Wait, mom!” Kyle calls out with an arm outstretched. 

But Shiela Broflovski is already gone. 

It’s just Kyle and Cartman now. 

Kyle’s fists ball. His gaze returns to the ground. 

“What do you want?” He asks Cartman heatedly. “Why are you here?” 

“Is there something wrong with me wanting to see my friend after having gone missing for two weeks?” Cartman asks, his voice sounding so, goddamn, _sinless._

Kyle grabs Cartman by the collar of his shirt with both of his hands— a notion that would otherwise be difficult to pull off if Kyle didn’t have his anger fueling him, seeing as Cartman is several centimeters taller than Kyle is, and, well—-fat. 

“Don’t f*** with me, Cartman,” Kyle snarls, poison seeping from his mouth, and feeding Cartman a glare so filled with hate it could kill. “Get to the point.” 

Cartman’s eyes narrow, his brown gaze boring into Kyle’s green, and Kyle suddenly wonders if grabbing him so abruptly by the collar was a good idea. Cartman might take it as a cue to initiate a fight, and if that happens, Kyle’s not sure he’ll fare so well. Even though Kyle could take Cartman on when they were kids fairly decently enough, (whenever Cartman _didn’t_ break down crying, that is) Cartman has proven over the years to be the better fighter. Kyle’s not even sure it’s because Cartman possesses some sort of better technique or whatever. It probably just has to do with the fact that Kyle is abnormally scrawny for his age, and Cartman is... the complete opposite. 

While Kyle would like nothing more than to get ripped so that no one would dare cross him, his diabetes and particular f*cked up health and metabolism have resulted in him being unable to partake in extreme physical activity. Which only makes it infuriating when an asshole like Cartman decides to pick a fight with him out of nowhere. 

In spite of this, Kyle decides to be brave this time around and doesn’t release his hold on Cartman’s shirt. 

“I suppose nothing gets around you,” Cartman says darkly, and writhes himself out of Kyle’s grasp. 

Kyle crosses his arms and taps his left foot—internally relieved that Cartman hasn’t retaliated with physical violence. 

“Well? Speak.” Kyle says clippedly. 

Cartman walks past Kyle and into his room. Kyle blinks, momentarily stunned by the action, but when he comes to and he looks behind his shoulder, he sees that Cartman has lain on his bed. Face pressed against Kyle’s pillow.

“H—hey!” Kyle barks. “Who gave you the right to—“

Cartman’s turns only his head away from Kyle’s pillow; to glare at the redhead. 

“Last night didn’t happen.” The fatass says without a trace of emotion. 

Kyle blinks; for a good ten seconds, there’s only silence; the silence is then broken by the sound of his door closing due to the wind coming in from his window, which is open. Kyle pays it no mind, though. 

“Excuse me?” Kyle questions. 

Cartman groans, and readjusts himself so that he’s sitting upright on Kyle’s bed, hands folded between his legs. 

“As far as anyone is concerned, I didn’t call you last night.” Cartman says quietly. 

“Why does it matter?” Kyle asks. 

Cartman grins evilly. “Because as far as the police, television, my mom, and the rest of the world are concerned, the ‘real’ reason I’ve gone missing is because a group of crazy Jews took me hostage for two weeks. Molested and exposed me to all sorts of psychological torture, as a means for me to accept their religion.” 

It takes _all_ of Kyle’s willpower not to murder Cartman, right here and now. 

“Cartman... “ Kyle can’t even see straight, his mind is reeling, body shaking and fists clenched. “You lying, sick, son of a—“ 

“You didn’t answer my question, last night, dear Kyle.” 

“What?!” Kyle spits. 

Cartman’s eyes darken. 

“Do you still believe in that Jewish God of yours?” 

Kyle feels like he might throw up. 

“Get. Out. Of my room.” Kyle says coldly, and it’s so damn hard to speak, with how the redhead’s feeling right now. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Kyle.”

“ _Cartman.”_

The aforementioned bastard laughs. 

“Why can’t you just answer my question?” Cartman smiles. “It’s a simple yes or no.” 

“ _Get out_!” Kyle screams. “Or I’ll—“ 

Cartman rises to his feet, grabs the Jew’s shoulders with both his hands, and rams him against the wall within the time span of a millisecond. 

“You’ll what?” Cartman asks softly. “ _Cry?_ ” 

Kyle can’t believe it, but Cartman’s _right._ Kyle really wants to cry right now, and it’s taking a lot of his energy not to do so. 

“Why... are you like this?” Kyle says shakily, face red. He can’t. He _can’t_ cry now. He bites his lip. 

“Why are you so obsessed with giving my people a bad name, and making us suffer...? Why do you care so much about making _my_ life a living hell...?” 

He lowers his head, his bangs shrouding and obstructing his eyes from meeting Cartman’s. 

“Why... why do you do this to me...? What... what do you want from me?” 

“I want you, Kyle.” 


	3. Isaiah 40:31 // remember //

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaiah 40:31 
> 
> ,,But those who hope in the Lord  
> will renew their strength.  
> They will soar on wings like eagles;  
> they will run and not grow weary,  
> they will walk and not be faint.“

Cartman chuckles. 

“Or at least, that’s what you want me to say, isn’t it?” 

Fury engulfs Kyle’s emerald eyes. 

“Get away from me.” Kyle growls. 

Cartman gives Kyle a half smile, releases him, and steps back far enough that he’s not invading Kyle’s personal space anymore.

“You can pretend to be a straight shooter all you want, Jewrat.” 

The light then falls completely from Cartman’s eyes. 

“But you can’t lie to me.” 

Kyle’s legs feel weak. 

“I won’t tell anybody about last night.” Kyle says quietly. “Just go.” 

Oddly enough, Cartman does just that, without even saying another word. 

Kyle then allows himself to cry. 

  
  


_I wish he were dead_ , Kyle thinks to himself as he walks over to his bed and smothers his face in his pillow, gripping the aforementioned cushion as tight as ever. _I wish he’d never come back. He’ll just make my life hell again like he always has... I know it._

Kyle normally scoffs at the idea of praying to a god—but in times like these, what other choice does he have? 

_Please, God... are you out there? Please. Please... just have Cartman stop tormenting me. Or anybody for the matter. Please, God... please. That’s all I ask._

He doubts any of his words will reach “God”, but... he can’t deny the longing he feels for something, _anything_ , out there, that could put an end to Cartman’s tyranny and constant sociopathic behavior... once and for all. 

There has to be something out there that could, right? 

He grips the green hat adjusted on his head tightly with his right hand, hoping the act will kickstart an idea in his brain. 

_Think, think, think, Broflovski. How can I get Cartman to stop hurting those around him?_

He grips his hat tighter. 

There has to be a way. 

There just has to. 

Minutes pass, and after what feels like an eternity of getting nowhere… at some point, Kyle’s internal attempts to figure out how to put a stop to the evil that is Eric Cartman, results in him thinking back to his childhood. 

Or rather, in particular—- a certain song. 

“Hatikvah”. Otherwise known as הַתִּקְוָה; or in English; “The Hope”.

The national anthem of Israel. A Hebrew song that was taught and sung to Kyle Broflovski as a child, and one he’s heard people sing on television countless times. 

While he can’t deny that the song itself is beautiful, the lyrics, when translated to English, are cringey behind belief. For whatever reason, he still has the English translation memorized in his brain from when he was young. 

“As long as in the heart, within,

The soul of a Jew still yearns,

And onward, towards the ends of the east,

an eye still gazes toward Zion;

Our hope is not yet lost,

The two-thousand-year-old hope,

To be a free nation in our land,

The land of Zion and Jerusalem.”

  
  


And yet, as the original Hebrew song and English lyrics manifest in his consciousness and fuel him with an experience beyond his comprehension, Kyle can’t help but wonder. 

Who is he, truly, anyway? 


	4. Psalm 7:11 //  into the unknown //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psalm 7:11 // God is a righteous judge, and a God who feels indignation every day.//

_ Author’s Note: Sorry this chapter is so short.  _

* * *

  
  


Sometime later that day, Kyle approaches his father hesitantly. 

“Dad. Do we have a Hebrew Bible lying around here?” 

Gerald Broflovski blinks, and stares up at his son with his eyes wide. Kyle’s father then sets down the newspaper he was reading on the table in front of him. 

“Why do you ask, son?” 

_ Yes, Kyle... why do you ask?  _ Kyle’s inner voice whispers to him. 

“I just want to better understand my heritage.” Kyle replies; a quick answer for both his inner voice and his father. 

“Yeah, we have one, but it’s lying somewhere in the basement.” Gerald then sighs. 

“I don’t think you’d be ready to read the Bible, though, son.” Gerald says solemnly, and rubs his temples. “It’s a book that even us grown ups have trouble understanding.” 

Kyle scoffs. The redhead can’t figure out what his father’s playing at. 

“Yeah, right. I’m seventeen years old, you know. I think I can handle reading a centuries’ old worthless book.” 

Kyle is caught off-guard by the sudden slap of his father’s hand on the redhead’s right cheek. 

“Never say that again, Kyle.” 

Kyle is dazed. 

“The fuck, Dad?!” Kyle exclaims as he rubs his right cheek, which has started to redden. “Why did you do that?” 

Gerald walks past his son angrily. “You just can’t understand.” 

* * *

Alright. 

So, Kyle definitely wasn’t expecting his father to slap him over a comment like that. 

_ Okay… Dad’s reaction to my harmless comment was weird as frick, but, he did mention it should be somewhere in the basement. So that’s where I’ll look.  _

Just as Kyle’s about to open the door to his basement, a thought comes to mind. 

.

.

.

_ Wait. Why am I doing this again? _

He’s motionless for several seconds, trying to rationalize the reasoning behind his curiosity to read the Bible.

He doesn’t know where to look for the answer, though. 

Thankfully; his brain, the organ he’s chiefly relied on for the majority of his life, provides him with a valid answer. 

_ There’s no harm in trying to understand my heritage on a deeper level.  _

Taking in a swift breath, he opens the door and enters.

* * *

-\\\\{ x Bacteria. 

Microscopic single-celled organisms lacking a distinct nucleus.

They inhabit virtually all environments, including soil, water, organic matter, and the bodies of animals. 

Among the first life forms to appear on Earth, and are present in most of its habitats.

Or so, Kyle was taught. }//-

* * *

  
-\\\\{ x Adam and Eve.

The first man and woman.

Made in God’s image, only to rebel and bring forth sin and death into the world.

A made-up story whose author is unknown.

Or so, Kyle believes. }//-

  
  


* * *

_ Author’s Note: I need to do more research on the Jewish faith before I can conjure up more content for this story. If anyone knows any sites/sources/books that are 100% verifiable, it’d mean a lot to me. (There’s just so much false information being spread around nowadays…) _

  
  



	5. Psalm 37:7 // so i’m following the map that leads to you //

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psalm 37:7 ,,Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him; do not fret when people succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There are a couple things I’d like to address.
> 
> To my dear readers: Note that at some point during the years in this fic, Stan’s family moved back from Tegridy Farms to their original home in South Park. This is for the sake of the plot. (Not to mention, boooy, did the show of South Park go downhill when Stan’s family moved to Tegridy Farms. Way too much Randy and not enough of our main boiz.) 
> 
> TO THOSE OUT THERE WHO QUESTION MY SANITY: I am _fully_ aware that the American animated sitcom, South Park, created by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, is a _comedy_, and I acknowledge that the endless amount of shipping and/or serious fanworks that exist in the fandom goes against everything Matt and Trey were trying to do with their characters.  
> THAT BEING SAID: The amount of talent that exists behind those sorts of fanworks is ridiculous, and they’re what ultimately inspired me to try and write one of my own. I truly love a lot of what the South Park fandom has produced, even though it’s something Trey and Matt definitely never intended for their characters. And I don’t feel an ounce of shame for it. Fandom is an fascinating phenomenon that can be picked apart and analyzed, but when you really boil down to it, it’s just fucking fun. Yeah, you thought I was gonna give some heartwarming speech? Please. I grew up watching South Park since I was eight for a reason. (*As of September 7th 2020, I’ve added this paragraph to the Author’s Note of the beginning of this story so that I can make myself abundantly clear—Also, because I know someone will ask; I’m currently in my twenties. Howdy ho.) 
> 
> Last, but not least: To those who were expecting pure Kyle/Cartman action in this fic; as you can see by the change I’ve made in the tags, sorry. You miscalculated. ;p 
> 
> Now then. Enjoy this chapter.

After thirty minutes of rummaging through old dusty boxes, Kyle finds it.

It would’ve been cool if the copy of the Hebrew Bible Kyle found was like the one he constantly saw used at the synagogue he went to growing up; a large hardcover book, complete with the outskirts of the pages being dabbled gold; but instead, its’ appearance is ordinary; its’ form comes in the shape of a paperback blue book with the words “The Hebrew Bible” in yellow centered on the front of it.

He treads the fingertips of his right hand over the surface, furrowing his brow. 

“You’re the source of all my problems…” He says huskily. He then chuckles, his eyes glimmering with determination. 

“But I’ll figure you out if it’s the last thing I do.”

* * *

“It’s over, Stan.” 

The amount of fucks Stan gives about Wendy’s words is surprisingly zero. 

“Kay.”

He then hangs up the phone and continues making his cereal. 

Stan’s learned by now that this is simply the way his and Wendy’s relationship has been functioning for years now, so whenever she tells him those exact words, he knows it’ll blow over sooner or later and she’ll come crawling back to him eventually. 

One might ask why does Stan even put up with Wendy, when their relationship has been on and off for years now, and downright toxic at times. 

It’s simple, really. 

She’s irresistible. 

She’s fucking perfect in everything she does, and he’s quite literally crazy about her. 

It’s hard for him to describe how, or _ why _ she’s the only woman who’s ever truly mattered to him over the years. 

He just knows that no matter how many times she’s torn his ego to shreds, that he just  _ can’t  _ function without her.

That being said— while he’s more than used to playing the waiting game with her, it’s still annoying everytime it happens. 

Especially considering that without her presence in his life, Stan finds himself a slave to his addictive tendencies and a victim to writing Goth poems again. 

His fists ball. 

“Dammit!” He curses. 

“Shut up, turd!” His sister yells from the other side of the room as she watches TV. Stan rolls his eyes as he pours milk into his bowl. 

He can’t wait to move out of this house, away from his toxic family who have proven to be nothing but emotional vampires for as long as he can remember. But, that dream won’t come into fruition for at least another couple years. Not until he finishes high school, finishes college and finds himself a proper job, that is. 

He sighs. 

If only time went faster. 

Stan’s cellphone rings. The number’s identified as being Kyle’s. 

“Sup, dude.” Stan greets as he inserts a spoon of his cereal into his mouth. 

“H--hey, Stan…” Kyle says, “I gotta ask you something…”

“Shoot.”

“This is kind of dumb, but… What’s your current stance on... well…”

“On what?” Stan presses. 

“... Religion.” Kyle finishes shyly. 

Stan blinks.“Uh...” What can Stan say to  _ that? _ “Where is this coming from, dude?”

Kyle takes a moment or two to reply. “It’s just…” Kyle begins, “I… I don’t know, man. Can you just answer my question?”

“Is this the only reason you called me? To ask what’s my stance on religion?”

“Yes.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Right. I’m not buying that. Talk. What’s  _ really _ bothering you?” 

“Nothing. Just answer my question.” 

“I’m really the last person to talk to about this sort of stuff.” Stan answers irritably, annoyed that Kyle isn’t being upfront about what’s really wrong. “When have I ever indicated that I give a crap about religion?”

“I mean... You celebrate Christmas every year…and your family’s Roman Catholic... ”

Okay, what’s seriously up Kyle’s ass?! “Dude,  _ everyone  _ celebrates Christmas, and almost  _ everyone _ in South Park is Catholic.” Stan retorts, “That doesn’t mean that I believe in an old man that lives in the sky and who sends people to hell.” 

Kyle takes in a deep breath. “So… what you’re trying to say is that you’re an atheist…” 

Stan clicks his tongue. “Tch. I hate labels as much as the next person, but since you’re so determined to give me one—yes, I’d say that I’m closer to being an atheist than I am an actual Christian.” Stan sighs. “Why does this even matter, dude?” 

“... It just does, Stan…” 

“Well, what about you?” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah. What’s  _ your _ stance on religion?”

Kyle is silent. 

“Kyle?” 

“It’s all a bunch of nonsense.” Kyle replies. 

“Agreed. So why are we even having this conversation?”

“Forget I even called.” Kyle then proceeds to hang up. 

Stan sets his phone down on the table and rubs his temples.  _ Screw religion. _ He thinks to himself in aggravation.  _ And screw my cereal.  _

Stan knows his friend well enough to tell that Kyle’s clearly troubled by something else. 

But Stan can’t be bothered to deal with that right now.

He has Goth poems to write. 

* * *

A couple hours later, when Cartman gives Stan a phone call and explains why he’s been missing for two weeks, does Stan realize the real reason why Kyle called Stan earlier today. 

“Cartman.” Stan says to his fat friend over the phone, aghast, “ _ The actual fuck.” _

“I know it’s hard to believe, Stan. It’s hard for me to believe, too.”

Stan is tempted to just hang up. But the urge to vomit takes precedence. 

“What’s wrong, Stan?  _ Shocked _ that Kyle’s people are able to commit such atrocities to a person? Well… I’ve been warning all of you for years now what the Jews are truly like… Only… the things they’ve done to me proves that they’re even  _ worse _ than I initially believed. They’re complete _ monsters  _ when it comes to indoctrinating others into their religion.”

“You’re lying.” Stan tells Cartman angrily.

It’s hardly audible-- But Stan has known this bastard long enough to tell when Cartman’s barely suppressed a chuckle. 

“Believe what you will, Stan.” He says smoothly. “But mark my words. The Jews will pay for everything they’ve done.” Cartman then hangs up.

Stan’s first impulse after that is to call Kyle.

_ Come on… pick up, Kyle…!  _ Stan thinks desperately. 

But the redhead is unavailable. 

* * *

Kyle remains unavailable for the rest of the day.

And the day after that. 

By the time Monday rolls around, Stan feels like utter shit.

And he knows exactly why. 

Aside from failed phone call attempts, Stan’s done  _ absolutely nothing _ to try and help Kyle these past three days. 

Even knowing what schemes Cartman most likely has in store for Kyle’s people.

It’s not that Stan didn’t care. 

He just didn’t care  _ enough _ to try and do anything other than try and call Kyle’s number.

And as Stan exits his home and starts walking in the direction of his high school on a cold, cloudy morning that’s way below the normal temperature in South Park, all he can think to himself as he adjusts his black scarf properly is how much he wishes he weren’t such a crappy friend. 

Although, at least he’ll never be able to beat Cartman in that regard.

* * *

As the bell rings and as Stan finishes his last class for the day, he reflects on how his day went, and what his next move should be. 

Technically speaking, school  _ should  _ be his first priority above all other things. That’s what his parents would tell him, anyway. But he knows himself well enough to admit openly that it’ll never be his first priority in life. Hence all the mediocre grades he’s received throughout all his years as a student. 

Still; to him, mediocre grades are good. Any kind of grades are good as long as they’re passing grades. 

… Now that that train of thought’s sorted out, he thinks back to Wendy. The primal male within him is screaming to contact her again, but he knows that’s not how this game of theirs works, so that idea is out of the question. 

Okay. Now that he’s cleared his mind of both of those things (School and Wendy), he can start to focus on what’s really important. 

… For fuck’s sake. 

He grabs his backpack off his chair and jolts to his feet. 

_ Why the  _ **_hell_ ** _ am I thinking about school and Wendy, when I  _ **_should_ ** _ be thinking about how fucked it is that neither Kyle nor Cartman showed up to school today?!  _

* * *

Why. 

Is no one answering Kyle’s door. 

Why. 

Does it seem like there’s nobody home. 

Stan presses his head against the Broflovski’s front door. 

It’s nothing, right? Stan has no reason to be worried, right? 

They’re probably just out buying groceries. 

Right? 

A conversation between Kyle and Stan from when they were children manifests in Stan’s heart. 

,, _ You’re my Super Best Friend.” _

_ ,,You’re my Super Best Friend too, Kyle.” _

Stan’s fists ball. 

“You’re still my Super Best Friend, Kyle.” He says out loud. “In time, I’ll prove that to you. I promise.” 

* * *

And so, that act alone marked the moment when Stan became an unwitting participant of a war. 

A war where none will win. 

Only sin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of me is very tempted to end the story here. There’s just something about leaving this whole story hanging and ending it in this fashion that is rather appealing to me as a writer. 
> 
> -sigh- I want to say the temptation isn’t stronger than me, but that would just be untrue. 
> 
> Help me out here, readers.


	6. -// kyle of the dawn //-

Hey guys! 

As a result of my inner turmoil over how/if I wish to continue this fic, today, I decided to pour out my creative juices into making a South Park AMV. (Anime Music Video). Why am I sharing this information with you?   
Because I want you to watch it, of course!   
Aight, real talk. -clear throat- Yeah. I want you to watch it. Just, watch it, and you'll see why I asked you guys to watch it. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqHnDE4XtNA

  
(Also, is there even anyone still out there, reading this fic...? I could get a comment every now and then letting me know someone's there, ya know.)


	7. Psalm 23:3-4 // do you believe in love? //

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psalm 23:3-4 ,,He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name. Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the two of you who took the time last chapter to comment and let me know you're still reading this fic, thank you.

“Well, what about you?” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah. What’s _your_ stance on religion?”

Stan’s question triggers something within the Jew.

Something Kyle hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

A true desire to go against the grain.

“It’s all a bunch of nonsense.” Kyle answers, a smirk playing on his lips. _Kind of like how_ everything _we’ve experienced growing up here in South Park is nonsense._ He inwardly laughs at how stupidly formulated that thought was. If that’s not the understatement of the year, then Kyle doesn’t know what is.

“Agreed. So why are we even having this conversation?”

“Forget I even called.” Are Kyle’s final words as he hangs up his phone.

If there’s something Kyle learned from this conversation between him and Stan, it’s that Kyle’s _done_ seeking the approval of his peers, in any shape or form. Especially from any of his so-called, _friends._

Kyle’s “friends”, when you boil down to it, are fucking trash. They were trash even as kids, but as the years went on and they all got older, they only got worse. 

Enter Stan, Cartman, Kenny, and Butters. The first is an aimless nobody whose obsession with his girlfriend borders insanity, the second is the spawn of Satan Himself, the third is a manwhore with no signs of improvement, and the fourth is a naive, gullible idiot. 

And the thing is. Kyle’s the worst of them all; an idiot who actually still cares about getting good grades in school and getting into a good college, despite the vast amount of lowlives who end up becoming rich by posting videos on YouTube.

Kyle shakes his head violently. _I may be fucked up beyond all repair, but at least I can admit that openly to myself. Unlike any of them._

No use thinking about them anymore, though. 

Kyle hunts for greater things. 

_Sorry, Stan._ Kyle thinks to himself as he exits his room and slowly begins walking down the stairs, Bible in hand. _You’re still my Super Best Friend._

Kyle’s eyes fall upon Gerald, Ike, and Sheila as he treads downward.

_But what I don’t need is a friend right now._

“You ready, son?” Gerald addresses Kyle. 

Kyle tightens his hold on the backpack strapped to his back. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Kyle may not be a fan of road trips; or of really spending any sort of “quality time” with his fundamentally flawed family. But you know what? They’re the ones who, for as long as he can remember, have been feeding, clothing, and providing a home for him to live under. They’re by no means perfect; but out of all the people Kyle knows, at least the way they care for him is the most consistent. 

So Kyle will go on this week-long road trip without complaining, even though Gerald announced the trip on a whim.

It’s the least Kyle can do for the people he loves. 

* * *

Alright. So today, Stan going to Kyle’s house after school didn’t work out so well. Maybe it’s because Mondays are cursed, or whatever.

So, logically; the next thing Stan should go do is confront evil embodied in the flesh. 

Because, you know. Mondays are cursed anyway. 

And that’s what Stan does. 

And never has Stan knocked harder on the Cartman family’s front door. 

Liane Cartman answers the door.

“Why hello Stan--!” She chirps. “Come in, I’m sure now that my poopsykins is home safe and sound, you want nothing more than to see him. He’s up in his room.”

“Right.” Stan says warily as he enters Cartman’s home and starts walking up the stairs, not bothering to even spare Liane so much as a glance. _And to think... such a sweet woman ended up raising a complete monster._

Why Cartman is the way he is is beyond Stan. It’s been beyond really anyone for years now. It’s no secret that the fat fuck was spoiled rotten growing up, but a spoiled upbringing doesn’t automatically translate into Eldritch Abomination. 

But, Stan’s no fucking psychiatrist, and God knows, the less people play psychiatrist, the better.

Stan opens the door of Cartman’s room to find the fat fuck lying on his bed in his pajamas; a laptop on his belly.

Cartman blinks upon noticing Stan’s appearance.

“Stan.” Cartman says, a hint of surprise in his voice. “What brings you here?”

“Whatever sick scheme you’re plotting, stop. Just fucking stop.” Stan snarls. 

Cartman rolls his eyes.

“No.”

_“Cartman.”_ Stan hisses.

“Mom!” Cartman yells at the top of his lungs. “Why did you let Stan in?!” 

“Cartman, give me _one_ good reason why I shouldn’t beat the shit out of you right now.”

Cartman snorts. “Uh, _duh_ , because you physically _can’t_? I mean, I’m kind of way buffer than you, dude.”

“You’re fucking fat.”

“And you’re skin and bones. Are we done here?”

“I’m not messing around, you asshole!” 

Cartman pulls his own hair. “God, just _shut up!_ Your voice is so annoying when you yell! It gets all high-pitched and bitchy and whiny and screechy, like a thirteen year old going through puberty!” Cartman then closes the screen of his laptop and rubs his eyes.“Just chill the fuck out, alright? I literally woke up like ten minutes ago. I’m definitely not in the mood right now for this shit.”

“It’s 5PM.” Stan deadpans. “And it’s Monday. You were supposed to be at school today.”

Cartman snorts. “In case you forgot, I was fucking held hostage, psychologically tortured and sexually violated for two weeks on end. You’re insane if you think the logical thing I should do is go to school immediately after having endured all of that.”

“You honestly can’t expect me to believe that's the reason you were missing. What do you seriously hope to accomplish by spreading these lies, Cartman?!”

The antagonistic look Cartman sends Stan is chilling. 

“Go home, Stan. What happened to me over the course of the last two weeks ultimately has nothing to do with you, so stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

“I’m _not_ letting this go, Cartman. And if you don’t give me at least _some_ sort of explanation behind your actions, I _will_ rally everyone who knows your true colors against you. The police might not know what sort of abomination you actually are, but countless other people do.” 

Cartman eyes darken. 

“Fine. You want an explanation?” Cartman puts his laptop on his right side of the bed and stands up. “I’ll give you one, Christian boy.” 

Stan frowns. _Christian boy?_ That’s the first time Cartman’s ever called him that before. But Stan doesn’t think too much of it, he’s busy thinking about how much he wants this fat fuck to just spill already. 

A smile plays on Cartman’s lips. “But first, chill the fuck out. There’s no need for you to frown at me like that. It’s bad for your skin.” 

Cartman sits back down on his bed and pats it with his right hand. 

“Close the door behind you and come and sit. You came here all the way over here for answers and I won’t deny you them.” 

Stan narrows his eyes. “... You mean it?” The words slip out from Stan’s mouth before he has a chance to think. 

Cartman nods. “Yeah. So come.” He pats the bed again three more times. “Sit. There’s a lot to be said and time isn’t exactly on both of our sides.” 


	8. Leviticus 18:22 // dead by april //

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leviticus 18:22  
> ,,Do not practice homosexuality, having sex with another man as with a woman. It is a detestable sin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Words can’t describe how frustrated I got the other day. I tried going to the local synagogue in town so that I learn more about Judaism, but to my everlasting frustration, the synagogue was closed to the public due to the Corona pandemic.  
> I mean, yeah, sure, I’ve got the internet to research this stuff, which is how I’ve been learning about and studying Judaism up until now. But still. 
> 
> In any case, this pandemic is really starting to wear me down. Hopefully South Park’ll cheer me up when its latest episode comes out in two weeks. (Please, Matt/Trey. Make it funny, or at the very least insightful.)
> 
> Also, guys. Tammy x Kenny. Please make more anime music videos/edits dedicated to that ship. (Well, more fanworks in general. The basis of their relationship leaves a lot of interesting ideas for story prompts as well.) Seriously. Tammy was the only girl who actually truly loved Kenny in the show. It’s about time someone started making tributes to them. (... Aside from me, of course. lol) Bunny is cute and all, but Kammy is cute too, ya know? -thumbs up emoji- 
> 
> Anyway, in the event that there’s a Kammy fan lurking around here somewhere, here are two Kammy AMVs I conjured up, for your viewing pleasure. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUXZ2yVfUOA  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAqtZ7uXih8
> 
> Anyway... Enjoy this chapter, guys. ❤️

“Alright. So talk.” 

“First,” Cartman begins. “Let me start with a question.”

“Hm?” 

“Have you ever thought about Kyle in a romantic light?”

If Stan didn’t curb his vomiting tendencies all those years ago, he’d certainly vomit after hearing something like _that,_ and coming from Cartman, of all people. 

“Dude.” Stan deadpans. “I’m not gay.”

“Love has nothing to do with sexuality, Stan.”

Stan snorts. “Right. Because _you_ of all people know what love is. Please give me a break.”

Cartman clears his throat. “Let me reiterate myself. When I say romantic light—you’re telling me you’ve never thought about pounding his rock hard ass?”

“Cartman, the fuck?” Stan exclaims. “You’re acting a fuckton gay right now. What, have _you_?” 

Cartman tears his gaze away from Stan to look at the floor, his face devoid of emotion. “I have.”

There’s a poignant silence that lasts between the two boys for what feels like an eternity. 

“You want to fuck Kyle.” It’s not an accusation from Stan’s part. It’s Stan stating what Cartman can’t say himself. A precise statement to confirm that the black-haired boy isn’t going crazy

Cartman nods. 

“Yes.”

“You hate Kyle.” Another statement Stan makes as he tries to make sense of the chaos within Cartman’s brain. 

“I do hate him. All the more reason to want to fuck him.”

“Cartman. You’re literally sick.”

Cartman gives him a look that Stan can’t exactly read. It’s almost wistful. 

“Question number two. Seeing as you claim to lack any sexual desire for our favorite Jewrat, and seeing how much you think you understand my relationship with him—have you given it any thought as to why he and I have been at constant odds throughout the years?”

“Because you’re a malicious, bigoted asshole who rips on everything and anybody.” _And who’s just plain evil._

“That’s where you’re wrong, Stan. Kyle is…” There’s raw desire in Cartman’s eyes. “Special.”

Stan tries to control bile from rising from the back of his throat. The urge to spill the contents from this afternoon is overwhelming.

“And you feel it too, don’t you, Stan?” Cartman muses. “Or you would, if Wendy’s spell weren’t so strong on you.” 

Stan swallows, and swallows, _hard._ He has to remain calm. 

Even though he wants nothing more than to beat Cartman until the fat bastard’s an incoherent bruised mess, he knows Cartman was right from earlier on. Stan wouldn’t be able to beat Cartman in a fight. Stan knows fully of what Cartman’s capable from having watched his and Kyle’s fistfights firsthand. 

Just how does someone like Cartman possess such good technique when it comes to fighting? … No, it can’t be just that. Cartman’s fat translates into strength, strength that Kyle’s body mass, weight, structure just couldn’t compete with through the years. 

And despite lacking diabetes, the black-haired boy’s body is practically identical to Kyle’s.

No, Stan wouldn’t fare well against Cartman. He’s just going to have to try and talk some fucking sense into Cartman. Something he’s never really been good at doing for _anyone, (_ Stan’s toxic family in particular comes to mind), but Stan doesn’t have a choice at this point. He has to. 

For Kyle’s sake. 

Stan averts his eyes from Cartman’s and scoffs. “If this is some attempt to turn me gay, it’s pathetic.” 

Cartman shrugs. “Well, truth be told, no, it isn’t. Having you develop feelings for Kyle would only get in the way of my plans.” 

“And what plans are those?” Stan demands. “You still haven’t told me jackshit. Quit fucking with me, Cartman. Get to the fucking point already.” 

Cartman clicks his tongue. “You won’t get anywhere by being impatient, Stan. But I suppose I am beating around the bush.” 

Cartman then folds his hands between his legs. 

His eyes are cold and focused. 

“I plan to eradicate religion.” 

“... Right. Like that’s gonna work.” 

“Hm?” 

“You. Eradicating religion. Hate to break it to you, but people have been trying to do that since, well. Forever.” 

“Try and stop me, Christian boy.” 

“There’s nothing for me to “try” and do. I’m telling you _facts_.” Stan sighs. “And what the hell is up with your sudden fixation on bringing up the fact that I’m, well, Christian?” 

“Because that’s what you _are_ , dipshit. Your religion makes it so that you involuntarily stick to a certain redheaded Jew like glue, whether you want to or not.” 

“... w h a t.” 

Cartman pulls on his own hair with both of his hands. “Agh, it’s like I’m talking to an idiot!” 

“Look who’s talking!” Stan barks. “Nothing you’re saying makes any sense!” 

“It makes perfect sense, asswad. Your inherent naivety is just what’s preventing you from seeing what I’m really saying.” 

“What you’re _saying_ is a whole load of nonsense. The fact that I was born a Christian has nothing to do with who I am as a person. Religion is something that’s _never_ affected me and Kyle’s relationship.”

“Both of your guys’ religion explains why you have trouble viewing each other romantically.”

“We don’t view each other romantically because we’re not gay!” Stan shouts, his face turning red from anger. “Just because _you_ have serious complexes regarding your _own_ sexuality, doesn’t mean you get to push that shit onto me.” 

Cartman scoffs. 

“Stan. Stan, Stan, Stan. Me, you and Kyle have known each other for well past a decade now. And it appears to me, that you _still_ haven’t realized that I’m _fully_ aware I have complexes. It’s why I can’t get the Jewboy out of my mind, no matter how hard I try.” 

“You seriously need a psychiatrist.” 

“That, I do. As does everyone.” 

Stan facepalms. 

“Anyway. Let me just ask you this. Eradicating religion... just how do you plan on doing that. For the love of God, tell me you’re not planning on burning churches or murdering religious people.” 

“I considered that briefly.” Cartman answers. Stan rolls his eyes. Cartman strokes his chin. “But no. That’s not how I plan on going about things.” 

“I fail to see anything resembling a plan with the way you’re going about all of this. So… what. Is your plan to just single out Judaism as the religion that needs to be eradicated first, by making up a story on how they kidnapped you for a week and then reporting it to the police and the news?” 

“I _was_ kidnapped, Stan.”

“I _know_ you, Cartman. You’re lying.” 

Stan sighs a throaty sigh, furrows his brow, and pinches the bridge of his nose with his right hand. 

“I’ve also always known you were insane, Cartman, but this is just…” 

“I truly wonder what our favorite Jew in town is doing right now. Probably ran off to his beloved synagogue and is praying to his oh-so wonderful God to send his people to rape me again.” 

“Cartman. Do you even hear yourself right now.” 

Cartman snorts.”Well, what else could he be doing?”

“Definitely not anything like _that._ Jesus Christ, Cartman. You’re acting like you don’t know Kyle. He’d _never_ do that.”

The ravenous growl that emerges from Cartman’s throat puts Stan on edge. 

“Kyle is a _Jew_ in its purest form, Stan.” 

Stan scoffs. “Yeah, by heritage, maybe. But Kyle doesn’t do stupid shit like go to a synagogue to pray for someone else to be raped, you moron. Nor would any other Jew I know.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do, Cartman.” 

“No. What you are to him— _to them_ —is a pawn.”

Stan laughs coldly. “Care to elaborate on what you mean by that?”

Cartman stares at Stan with a look that Stan can’t read for the life of him. 

Then. 

Cartman kisses Stan on the lips. 

Stan’s paralyzed—at first, he’s certain he can’t move because he’s in shock at the sudden action from Cartman’s part, but it’s only when Cartman pulls away with a smug grin on his face, that Stan realizes he really _can’t_ move. At all. It’s like he’s been encased in ice and he can only stare at Cartman helplessly as he tries to make sense of what the fuck is going on. 

_Just what the fuck did Cartman do to me?_

“I hate that _you’re_ the first boy I’ve ever kissed voluntarily,” Cartman says. The brunet then wipes his lips with the top of his left hand. “But I suppose it’s not a big deal in the long run. There’s just always a price to be paid if you want Lucy to help you out with something.” 

_Lucy?_ Stan tries to speak, he physically _can’t._ The black-haired boy’s mind is sent reeling. 

_Just what the fuck’s going on?_

“You asked me what I meant by pawn, my dear Catholic,” Cartman then scoots over closer to Stan and trails the fingers of his right hand down Stan’s cheeks, his brown eyes locked onto Stan’s terrified blue, and his voice turns into a whisper. 

“You’ll understand the meaning of my words in due time, future King.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of me is terrified that by the time college starts for me again (in two weeks), I’ll lose motivation to finish this work. -sigh- pray for me guys. i want nothing more than to see this work completed. feel free to give me nudges every now and then to update sooner and stuff… theoretically speaking, that _should_ help me get my s*it together.


	9. Daniel 1:19  // be prepared //

Daniel 1:19 ,,The king talked with them, and out of them all not one was found like Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah; so they entered the king’s personal service.”

  
  


Author's note: Aight, guys. So seriously. SOMEONE _needs_ to enable the option to leave voice messages on fanfics as comments on AO3. And on, well, every other site where you can read fanfics. Like. That would make commenting on other peoples’ fics sooo much easier. Sure, I’m sure not everyone is cut out to leave voice messages (social anxiety/irrational fears are real amirite), but I’m not one of those people. I want to freaking pour out my heart to the author whenever I’m done reading their fics, and having at least the _option_ to leave a voice message would make that a whole lot easier. Typing conveys emotions relatively fine on its own, but when you hear someone’s voice? That. That stuff is real, man. 

  
  


Note to self; file this complaint to AO3 asap. And I will. But if more people send the complaint as well, that should increase the chances of this becoming a reality. Heck, maybe the option for leaving voice messages on YouTube should be a thing as well. -raised fist emoji- 

On another note, I don’t think AO3 should ever make comments on a fic private, because the joy in reading a fanfic also comes from reading the thoughts of other people as you’re going along a fic. So yeah. That’s just me, though. But I’m okay with having an unpopular opinion.

Enjoy this chapter, lovelies! 

* * *

  
  


Cartman then wiggles his left index finger, and Stan reverts back to normal. 

“What the fuck was that?!” Stan shrieks as he grabs the collar of Cartman’s shirt. 

“Lucifer.” Cartman replies simply, completely unfazed by Stan’s agitation. 

Stan releases his hold on Cartman’s shirt, stands up, and pulls out his cellphone from his right pocket. “I’m calling the fucking cops.” Stan hisses. 

Cartman wags his left index finger again, rendering Stan incapable of any sort of movement once more. 

“The cops can’t do anything, Stan. If you really want to stop me, Christian boy... “ Cartman laughs wickedly. “Well, that’s just it. You _can’t_ stop me. _No one_ can.” 

Cartman laughs wickedly, then wags his finger again, enabling Stan to move again. 

“I’ll honestly fucking kill you, Cartman.” Stan spits once he finds his voice once more. “If that’s what it takes to stop you from hurting anyone.” 

Cartman whistles. “You’re acting like killing me will be easy.” 

Stan snarls, then advances towards Cartman’s door. 

“Whatever you’re plotting... I swear. I swear to God I’ll stop you.” Stan vows, then slams the door as he leaves the room.

Cartman hums, happy to have his room to himself again. 

“You there, Lucy?” Cartman calls out. “Do me another favor, will you?”

Cartman chuckles as his gaze darkens, “Bring me to Kyle.”

* * *

Kenny views himself as an individual who’s more self-aware than most. He’s tempted to say that his higher level of consciousness isn’t even so much an opinion as it is a fact.

The blond has been through things that none of his peers have. Experienced things that no one ever should.

Kenny knows fully, right now, that something is gravely wrong in South Park. He just senses it.

He also knows, that as he’s gotten older, he’s developed _such_ an _indifference_ to all the insanity that takes place in their little redneck mountain town, that he’s literally not going to do anything about it.

He’d rather just enjoy the simpler, pleasurable, aspects of existence while he can.

“Fuck...” Kenny hisses through clenched teeth as he lays sprawled across his bed, his eyes focused on the ceiling of his bedroom. _God_ ... this is the best handjob he’s given himself in _ages._ He’s literally about to experience the best orgasm of his life.

But as per fucking usual, he just can’t catch a break in this god-forsaken mountain town.

The door to his bedroom opens.

“KENNY!”

As soon as Butters comes bursting into the room, shrill voice piercing the air, Kenny’s erection almost instantly deflates.

Never has Kenny wanted to murder Butters more than right now.

“BUTTERS! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” Kenny screams, anger coursing through every inch of his body as he holds both sides of his head with his hands and stares at the ceiling. He’s so pissed that he doesn’t even bother getting up, nor bother trying to hide his wiener. “Get the fuck out of my room, dipshit!”

Stan’s appearance—and voice—promptly follows suit. “Kenny, this is an emergency!”

Kenny glares at Stan. “Ever heard of knocking before you barge into someone’s house? Or, gee. I don’t know. RINGING THE FUCKING DOORBELL? What if I had a chick sucking me out right now, HUH?”

Butters looks like he wants to say something along the lines of an apology, but Stan speaks up before Butters can.

“Stop being such a self-indulgent pig!” Stan shouts at Kenny with all of his might. “It’s bad enough that you’ve been ditching school for the past week ever since your parents went out of town, but it’s even worse that your cellphone’s been off for the past three days. _Especially_ considering that _Cartman’s_ back.“

“I should have locked the fucking door,” Kenny groans in annoyance, then blinks, and sits upward. “Wait. _What_ did you say? _Cartman’s_ back?”

“Have you been living under a f**king rock?” Stan hisses.

“Bro, no one f**king told me.” Kenny counters.

“It’s been all over the news for days now, moron!” Stan snaps.

Butters nods. “Yeah, and your phone has been off ever since Saturday, the day Cartman came back, so no one could tell you even if they wanted to.” Butters adds, starkly calm in contrast to Stan.

Kenny groans. “Well, _forgive_ me for wanting some time away from the world and all its bullshit.”

“And can you zip your fricking pants already!” Stan shouts. “No one wants to look at your goddamn junk!”

Kenny lets out an uproarious groan, tucks his d!ck back into the fabric of his jeans, and zips his pants.

“So. What’s the emergency?” Kenny asks dryly. “If Cartman's return is the only reason you two decided to barge in my house like that, ya'll are retarded. _Please_ tell me there's more to your guys’ unwanted intrusion than just _that.”_

“There is.” Stan says solemnly.

  
  


* * *

After Stan is done telling Kenny and Butters the full story of the events that have transpired over the last couple of days, Kenny clears his throat. Stan swallows, anxious as to what Kenny has to say.

“So. What you’re basically trying to say, Stan, is—Cartman has it pretty fucking bad for both you and Kyle.”

Kenny has Butters laughing so hard, he nearly falls off the chair he’s been sitting on for the past seventeen minutes Stan has been telling them his story. Meanwhile, Stan is trying to find every reason within _himself_ **_not_** to throw **_his_** chair across the room at Kenny, who’s been lying ever so casually on his bed ever since this whole conversation began.

“Did you not hear the rest of what I just told you, you fucking inbred?” Stan growls.

Kenny makes a thoughtful look. It’s clearly faux, though. “Oh, and, you’re subsconsciously gay for Cartman as well.”

This time, Butters really _does_ fall off his chair, and continues to chortle uncontrollably even whilst his ass is on the floor.

_God. My friends are fucking assholes._ Stan thinks to himself in anger. _And here I thought seeking help from them after what happened today with Cartman would be a good idea. Mondays literally are f*cking cursed._

“I’m not joking around, Kenny!” Stan snaps. “Take what I’m saying seriously!”

“Aight, aight, chill dude. God forbid I make some jokes here and there.” Kenny’s gaze becomes serious. “Aight. So, assuming you’re _not_ high as a kite right now and what happened with you and Cartman today was real, I think I have a solid answer as to what’s really going on here. Let’s ignore the absurdness of the situation for a bit, and try and take all of this seriously.”

Butters’ laughter throughout all of this never desists, and on cue—Stan and Kenny synchronize. “Butters, shut up!” They both roar.

The change in Butter’s demeanor is instant. “S-sorry,” the light-haired blond says meekly as he adjusts himself back onto his chair.

Once Butters is seated properly on his chair again, Kenny speaks. 

“So, Stan. From what you’ve told me about what happened to you, earlier today— and from what knowledge I’ve accumulated over the years on Cartman, it appears to me that during the past two weeks that Cartman was gone, he fucked around with some supernatural shit. Dark magic, if you will.”

“You... You’re not being serious right now.” Stan says drily.

Kenny narrows his eyes. “And judging from what _you’ve_ told me, I’d say that “supernatural shit” that I’m referring to— is none other than the big bad of the Bible; the Prince of all Darkness and Evil itself; Satan.”

Stan glances at Butters. “Butters, you hearing this guy right now?”

Butters is silent at first. Then urges; “Go on, Kenny.”

Kenny shrugs. “Well, there’s not much for me to go on about. We’re basically all screwed.”

“Now, hold up!” Stan growls. “What the fuck kind of answer is that?”

“The honest kind.”

“Honest, my ass. Jesus, Kenny. I always knew you had your problems, but I didn’t think you were _this_ much of a dick.”

Kenny laughs. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Butters. Say something, please. Don’t make me out to be the only sane one in this room.” Stan says in exasperation. 

“... I think what Kenny’s saying might be possible, Stan.” Butters says quietly.

“Bro. Supernatural shit does not exist. How fucking old are you. Guys. Jesus.”

“Hate to break it to you, but supernatural shit _is_ real, Stan. And it’s been affecting South Park for years now.” Kenny groans as if this is something _obvious._ “But for whatever reason, no one fucking ever seems to notice, or think too deeply about it. Or even care. _Or,_ they just forget.”

“I admit our town is fucked up beyond repair, but... to blame its problems on the supernatural? _Really?”_ Stan looks at Kenny. Then Stan looks at Butters.

They’re both staring at Stan as if the black-haired teen’s gone bonkers. 

“Why are you guys looking at me like I’m crazy.” Stan says in annoyance. “Please tell me I’m missing something here.” 

“You really _don’t_ remember all the times we’ve encountered supernatural entities, do you, Stan. Huh.” 

Kenny then sits upward on his bed and focuses his gaze on Butters. “What about you, Butters? Do you remember?”

Butters is silent.

“Butters?” Kenny prompts. 

“I agree with Stan. The supernatural isn’t real.” Butters says at last. 

Stan is about to let out a sigh of relief, glad that _someone_ in this room agrees with the black-haired teen. 

But as is typical of Butters, the light-haired blond quickly disappoints Stan. 

“But... the _Devil_ **_is_** real.” Butters says quietly.

_“_ Oh my fucking God,” Stan facepalms. “Can both of you grow a f**king pair?”

Butters continues as if Stan didn’t say anything. 

“What you’ve told me today, Stan… and Kenny… it’s not a hundred-percent in line with Biblical Prophecy…” Butters’ eyes glow. “But… if there’s something I’m confident about as a Christian... I know… I know, deep within me… that life doesn’t always follow the Prophecy.” 

“I’m _surrounded_ by _idiots_.” 

* * *

Stan never really thinks much about how certain movies affect his consciousness. No one does, really. Movies are meant to entertain. They’re not meant for anything greater than that. And anyone who says otherwise, is honestly deluding themselves.

That’s what he _thinks_ , at least. Or at least, that’s what the Internet and society generally has to say about movies. 

Still, entertainment isn’t necessarily _bad,_ per say. If it does its’ job right. 

Scar from _The Lion King_ for instance, did a good job just now, by providing Stan a memorable quote to say to his dumbass friends who consistently keep acting like asshats.

Of course, perhaps the quote in itself wasn’t that memorable. It’s probably the fact that he’s rewatched that scene a dozen times.

Objectively speaking, YouTube is cancer. 

But hey. 

So are fucking horoscopes. 

  
  


* * *

Author's note: I’m an Aquarius in case anyone’s interested. I don’t necessarily _hate_ horoscopes. They’re just kind of. Uh. Satanic. Technically speaking, at least. -breathes quietly- -cuts to sokka gif- x water tribe x

Also, follow me on tumblr/instagram; my tumblr is cerise-apple, and my instagram is ceriseapple. Lots of good, wholesome stuff there. -smile emoji- 

[ https://cerise-apple.tumblr.com/ ](https://cerise-apple.tumblr.com/)

Subscribe to me on YouTube as well? The wholesome content there reaches maximum potential. -wink emoji- [ https://www.youtube.com/user/CeriseApple ](https://www.youtube.com/user/CeriseApple)

(... srsly tho why haven’t i gotten crucified yet dafuqq) 

Jesus: BECAUSE IT’S NOT WHAT YOU TRULY WANT

ME: I KNOW 

ME: WAIT YES IT IS

JESUS: NO. BAD. 

ME: -PRAYING INTENSIFIES- KAMI SAMA SAVE ME

JESUS: DAIJOUBU

ME: ARIGATOU JESUS-SAN! AISHITERU!!!! ;-; -heart emojis-

Jesus: Always.

Me: <3 ! Love you, Jesus! 


	10. revelation.

Stan gets to his feet. “I’m leaving. I’m not listening to any more of this shit.”

“Stan, wait.” Kenny grunts exasperatedly. 

“No. I came here today thinking you two could help me, seeing as, oh, I don’t know, we’ve been _close friends_ practically our whole lives by now, but Butters keeps being... well, Butters, and you Kenny, just keep screwing around with me.”

“Stan. I’m _not_ screwing around.” Kenny says. 

“Then you’re just as dumb and crazy as Butters is.” Stan hisses. 

“Hey!” Butters pouts. 

Stan ignores Butters and keeps talking to Kenny. “Not that I’m exactly surprised, considering the way you wore your parka hood for the first twelve years of your life. It’s a miracle you even _realized_ at some point that you function better with your parka hood down.” 

Oddly enough, Kenny ignores Stan’s insults.

“Let’s be real, Stan,” Kenny says coolly, “There are two options as to what happened to you. One, it was the Devil, or two, you’re just a closet gay who froze up when Cartman decided to put the moves on you.” 

“It’s neither.” Stan says hotly. 

“Oh, really? What else could have happened? Since when does a kiss translate into you literally losing complete control over your own body and losing the ability to move?” Kenny asks.

As the memory of what Cartman did to Stan today resurfaces, Stan finds himself at a loss for words. 

“I don’t know,” Stan admits. “There has to be some sort of scientific explanation for this.” 

“The ‘scientific’ explanation is that you’re gay, bruh.” 

Never has Stan wanted to hit Kenny as much as he does now. “I’m not!” Stan balks, “God! You’re unbearable!” 

Butters then decides to speak up. “You really believe that the Devil might be real, Kenny?” 

“We literally all saw the Devil appear before us in the flesh when we were kids, you idiot.” Kenny deadpans. 

Stan flinches, whereas Butters looks terrified. 

“What? When?!” Butters exclaims in fear. 

Kenny sighs. 

“Why can’t either of you remember...?” Kenny says sadly. Stan doesn’t know why, but Kenny suddenly looks _tired_. He looks as though he’s been carrying the weight of the world his whole life, and only now can Stan see that reflected in the blond’s blue eyes. 

“It was a long time ago. We were kids back then, in the third grade.” Kenny pauses, then looks at Butters. “Although, Butters; I think you weren’t there with me, Cartman, Kyle and Stan, back then. But you’ve probably had your own fair share of times when you saw him, too.” 

“What did he look like?” Butters asks. 

“Big, muscular, red, with horns and goat legs. His character design was pretty generic, if you ask me. Lazy, even. “ 

“Holy fuck, Kenny. _Character design?_ We don’t live in a frickin’ TV show, for God’s sake!” Stan snaps. 

Kenny laughs. “We could be, for all you know.” 

Stan’s fists ball. “That’s it. I’m out.” 

“Stan, wait. Stay.” Butters pleads. “Look… I ... I’m not sure what game Kenny’s playing at, either. But, let’s talk more about this. Me and Kenny—We’re your friends, Stan.”

“Kenny’s being a complete d!ck right now, Butters.” Stan says drily. 

“I mean, yeah, kind of,” Butters replies, and shoots Kenny a cold look, before turning back to Stan, “but realistically speaking, there’s not really anyone else you can turn to besides us. If what you’re saying is true... that Cartman made you paralyzed... just by _kissing_ you... if you tell anyone else that story— _especially_ the police, they’ll just write you off as crazy. We’re _at least_ trying to make some sense of it.” 

Stan doesn’t want to admit it. But Butters is right. There’s no one else Stan can really share this crazy story with without being sent to a mental asylum for doing so.

“Besides... Stan... objectively speaking, South Park has experienced far too many crazy things through the years. It’s not a stretch to say that there are some otherworldly forces at play here that we _just_ can’t see.” Butters sighs. “So, stay, Stan. We’re all in this together and we’re here to help you out as much as we can.” 

Stan narrows his eyes and looks at Kenny. Kenny nods. 

“Sorry for being kind of a dick, Stan.” Kenny says. “I suppose I’m just worn out by all the bullshit that keeps happening in South Park.” 

Stan groans, and slumps back onto his chair. He hates it when Butters, of all people, actually makes valid points. 

“Alright. I’ll stay.” Stan grunts. Then sighs, and focuses his gaze on Kenny’s. 

“So, humor me, Kenny. You think I’m either gay or that there are some supernatural forces here at play. Let’s assume it’s the latter, seeing as I’m not the former.” 

Both Stan and Butters look at Kenny expectedly as they await his response. Kenny blinks.

“Why is everyone looking at me? I don’t know shit about how the Devil operates.” Kenny snorts.

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WAS SO INSISTENT THAT HE’S THE CAUSE OF ALL THIS!!!” Stan swears that his screaming nearly ruptures the eardrums of everyone in the room.

Stan pants as he tries to recollect himself; he doesn’t think he’s ever screamed quite as loud as he just did.

Kenny winces, groans and sits upright. “The only thing I know about the Devil is that he’s real. That doesn’t mean I ever _really_ know what the hell to do whenever he arises and decides to fuck with South Park for a bit.”

Kenny then looks at Butters. 

“Butters. You’re the actual Christian around here. You’re the one who’s actually prays to Jesus, goes to Church, and goes to Bible Study every week. What do _you_ know about the Devil?”

Butters looks hesitant, and rubs the back of his neck with his right hand. 

“Well... It’s like I said. What happened to Stan isn’t really a hundred-percent in line with Biblical Prophecy.” Butters furrows his brow, lost in contemplation. His fingers then reach for the right pocket of his pants, and he pulls out his iPhone with his right hand. 

“Let’s see... there’s gotta be a verse for this situation...” Butters mumbles as he turns on his phone and presses his left pointer finger against a green-colored app on his phones’ touchscreen.

“Butters. Is that a Bible app.” Stan deadpans.

“Yeah.”

“You have a fucking Bible app.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re looking for a Bible verse right now. _Of all things._ ”

“Yeah.”

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose with his right hand. “Can you _please_ not?” 

Butters looks up at Stan from his phone. “Why not?”

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who blabbed on about how Cartman magically paralyzed your body.” Kenny snaps at Stan, tone-pissed off to the bone. “Admit it was all in your head, Stan, or God help me— I’ll have Butters recite every single Bible verse so that we can get to the bottom of this.” 

Stan’s fists ball. 

It wasn’t in his head. It couldn’t have been, could it? _No._

_It wasn’t._

“I’ll admit this whole situation is insane, and that what Cartman _did_ to me was insane, but… turning to the Bible for help is even more insane at a time like this.” 

“Well, we don’t really have another choice at this point, now do we.” Kenny says irritably. “I don’t read the Bible as much as the next person— but, what I can say with confidence is that the police, government, nor scientists sure aren’t gonna help us with this one— so we might as well listen to what Butters has to say.”

* * *

Kyle dreams rather vividly that night. 

His dreams initially revolve around the story of Adam and Eve. Which makes sense, considering it’s the story Kyle has been analyzing the most from the Book of Genesis whilst on this road trip so far. 

The road trip itself has been proving to be a nice escape from everything. 

But no one escapes really anything, at the end of the day. 

Kyle starts to dream of _Cartman._

Memories of their childhood together resurface. Memories of their days in elementary, middle school; memories from high school. 

Then at once, something new manifests.

Kyle finds himself standing face-to-face with Cartman. 

Pupils dilate. A violin stirs. Sings, and resonates.

Memories of the days when Craig and Tweek became canon re-emerge— and Kyle’s eyes widen. 

_Cartman_ seems _too_ real. 

“Kyle.” Cartman utterance of the redhead’s name causes Kyle to flinch. 

“C-Cartman.” Kyle whispers. _This doesn’t feel like a dream anymore._ The redhead thinks to himself in alarm. 

“That’s because it isn’t.” Cartman replies bluntly. 

“Wha— DID YOU JUST READ MY MIND?!” Kyle shrieks as he points his index finger at Cartman. 

Cartman chuckles, and pats Kyle’s forehead. 

“Yes. And I’m kidding. This is a dream, idiot. But I assure you it’s not your average dream.” 

“Don’t touch me!” Kyle barks, and Cartman retreats his arm in response. “And tell me how to wake up!” 

“It’s like I said, dumbass. This isn’t your average dream, so waking up isn’t exactly an option.” 

Kyle shakes his head violently. “You’re not real!” Kyle shouts as he turns around, covers his ears, and closes his eyes. “Get out of my head!” He whispers frantically. 

Cartman’s voice sends chills running down Kyle’s spine, “Not gonna happen, Jew. So I recommend you get yourself comfortable, because whether you like it or not, I’m here to stay in this dream of yours for as long I see necessary.” 

Indignation has Kyle whirling around to punch Cartman in the face, but Cartman easily catches Kyle’s fist with his left hand. 

“There’s really no need for violence, Kyle.” 

“I want out!” Kyle shrieks, shaken. _Why… why is this happening..?_

He thought that by agreeing to go on the road trip with his family, he’d temporarily escape the psychological torment Cartman was putting him through thus far.

**_Why... is this happening?!_ **

“It’ll be clear in due time, Jew. Don’t forget that I can read your thoughts right now, idiot. And for Christ’s sake; actually use your brain and don’t pick a fight with me right now. We both know which one of us is the better fighter.”

Kyle retreats his arm, face crimson red. 

“So what do you want?” Kyle chokes on his words. 

Everything suddenly shifts, and Kyle finds that they’re both now standing in the center of Cartman’s bedroom. 

“Wha— Why are we here?” Kyle asks weakly. Kyle’s mind is so clear, Cartman’s room, so detailed. It’s almost as though they’ve transported into Cartman’s room for real. 

“We have,” Cartman replies, reading Kyle’s mind one more, “This is indeed my room, Kyle.” 

Kyle wants to yell, “Liar!”; a feeble desire to convince himself that he’s still dreaming. But only a fool would deny the reality of the situation. He knows, knows deep within himself, that all what’s happening, is real. He’s completely conscious-- _both_ of them— He feels it from the depths of his soul, and just like that—

_Everything_ shifts. 

“What the hell is going on…?” Kyle whispers, eyes wide as saucers. “Why… Why do I feel… so… vulnerable right now?”

“What did you do to me, Cartman?”

Cartman laughs.“Me? I didn’t do anything.”

Kyle sinks to his knees, gaze fixated on the ground. “I—I feel…” The Jew then wraps his arms around himself. _“Naked.”_

Cartman scoffs. “I’m sure you do. Thou must chilleth the fuck out, you idiot. Then again, this is just all going according to plan.”

Kyle looks down and finds himself donning a white robe. 

He then looks back up at Cartman. The fatass isn’t wearing his characteristic red jacket and brown pants. 

This hooded figure—Kyle stresses _figure—_ dons a long black robe, and whose gleaming red eyes cut into Kyle’s green. 

Kyle’s petrified— Metaphorically. Literally. 

_In every sense of the word._

And, then. 

/as such—/

Fragments—pictures— _meanings_ , behind everything— become ever clearer to Kyle. 

Metaphors.

Allegory. 

Their fucking hell-hole of a school. 

The meaning behind these things //...

Have never been clearer to Kyle. 

The line between all of these concepts blur. In fact— _are_ there even any lines between these concepts? 

_Were there even any lines?_

Where does one, even begin to draw the line between these… _things?_

_Did they ever exist?_

  
  


“You tell me, Kyle,” Cartman laughs. Kyle’s mind keeps being read, and it’s driving him insane. “Growing up, you’ve always been the one philosophizing, aiming for the stars. Of course— the _wrong Star._ And it’s a pity, too. Well— actually, it’s not.” 

“Stop talking.” Kyle snarls. 

“You’re frightened, Kyle.” Cartman says. Softly. 

Somehow— _somehow—_ Kyle speaks. “I’m not.” Poison seeps through the Jew’s veins. 

Kyle’s body is set aflame. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” Kyle says, willing himself to stand on two feet. 

“You never did answer me, Kyle. Do you still believe in that Jewish God of yours.” 

Kyle’s eyes narrows. “And I should answer you, why?” 

“Well, if you do, I might consider ending this dream for you.”

“As is typical of you, you act like you don’t know me, Cartman. We’ve known each other our whole lives. I’ve never been the religious type. I thought that’s been obvious for years now.” 

It’s a snicker. 

A _snicker, of all things— is what hits a nerve, that strikes a chord within Kyle._

And then. 

It all comes pouring back. 

Memories of their youth— discarded memories. All the times they’ve faced gods head on, all the times they’ve raced against time itself to stop whatever the fuck shitstorm the universe had in mind for South Park. 

And all the times—their quintent was directly responsible for the chaos their little redneck mountain town reaped. 

And it all—

It always—

Stems back— 

To e v i l. 

Kyle glares at Cartman. He sees Adam. 

He’s aware now. 

His eyes—

Are _open._

And just like that. 

Kyle realizes that he’s never been a pawn in the grand scheme of God. 

Their universe— or rather— multiverse— their beautiful— so, so, so, beautiful— _forma ideale—_ was just a curse brought forth from the Morning Star. Disillusion. Disarray. An Ideal, created by a lonely prince— desperate for the love and approval of His wicked Father who rules over Heaven with an iron fist. 

A game of chess. A battle royale. 

A cross. 

Kyle sighs deeply. 

The Theory— the Ideal, of Darwin’s Evolution— comes to a grinding halt—and Kyle’s given a glimpse of a time when things were sweet, noble; righteous, and true. He’s thrust into Paradise. A state of infinite possibilities, a sliver beyond Plato’s Cave. A taste of a better realm— a land rich, with milk, and honey. 

Jung’s magnum opus. 

And it all begins to _click._

“Cartman.” Kyle says. 

“Kyle.” 

They speak in unison. And they both smile. 

“Let’s play.” 

* * *

stan, my man.

the other day i literally puked, stan. if you’re out there… help me. please. 

i’m in love with cartman. 

it’s not me— or at least, i don’t think it is. 

i love cartman, so, so much. but this isn’t what i’m meant for. i know it. deep inside my soul, deep within my heart. not here. not, like this.

you’re so much more than you believe, my knight, my prince of the air. you know it. your smile saved me, so, so, many times in the past. 

i ask only that you shine. For Wendy’s sake. For Cartman’s sake. 

For My sake. 

+Stan.+

sincerely— your super-best-friend Kyle. 

Author’s note: Checkmate, atheist. 


	11. the king of fools.

uh, okay. stan.

er... so i know my last letter made no sense, like, at all. 

i don’t have a good explanation as to why i wrote it. don’t get me wrong, i have an explanation, but it’s not a good one, in the slightest. at all. 

let’s just say that my existential crises have been getting worse as of late. i can’t help it, though. i know i’m constantly made fun of by kenny and cartman for constantly philosophizing and searching for answers on the meaning of life even though we’re in the eight grade and nobody should give a shit about that sort of stuff at that age, but... FUCK. fuck, fuck, FUCK. I just... AGH. 

... okay. let me try again. 

let me explain a bit more why i wrote my last letter in the way i did. 

a couple of nights ago, i had a dream that made me paranoid that deep down, i’m actually in love with cartman. i know, i know. it sounds totally bonkers, considering that he’s basically my archenemy, but the dream was just... so intense, and... just such a mindfuck, that it resulted in me writing whatever that last letter was. it also resulted in me puking. not an exaggeration. the dream made me question my existence so much, that i literally felt queasy, went to my bathroom, and regurgitated the contents of my stomach. i know it’s not exactly a rare occurrence in south park for people to puke over stupid shit, but... ugh. the fact that a dream about _cartman_ of all people was able to rile me up so bad STILL makes me wanna barf.

what’s worse is that the dream itself _wasn’t_ exactly the most disgusting thing on the planet. don’t get me wrong, it was gross— but it wasn’t _2 girls 1 cup._ _wait, ugh._ it wasn’t even close. 

i’m beating around the bush here. let’s just get to what the dream was about. 

for whatever reason, i dreamt that cartman was a girl. a pretty girl. and not fat. and that he ... or well, _she,_ kissed me. literally gross. i know. is it something to puke over? well, seeing as _you,_ stan, puked on wendy every time you saw her back when we were in elementary, you don’t have the right to judge me anyway, you idiot. 

remind me again why i’m writing these letters that you’ll never read? oh yeah. 

.

.

. 

  
  


Because at some point in my life, you, Stan, became my everything. 

+.x.+

.

.

.

//-what do i mean by that?...-// 

What I mean by that is… well. A lot of things. I could easily say something like how I love the way you still write Goth poems even though you haven’t hung out with the Goth kids for years now, but… who am I kidding. I _do_ love the way you write Goth poems. They’re so well-written, they’re _so good._ I know we all rip on you for writing them, but know deep down that I think they’re amazing. I honestly think they’re your crowning achievement. You know? I mean it. I’m not being sarcastic now, I’m being honest. 

Anyway. I do mean to go into more detail what I mean when I say you’re my everything, and I _will_ show you all these letters one day. But… I’ll do it when the time is right. I promise I will. It’s the least I can do for my best friend. 

I love you, Stan. Even though I know your heart belongs to Wendy. And even though we’re both guys. 

Sincerely, your super-best-friend-Kyle. 

* * *

  
  


Kyle thought he could fight Cartman. Something inside Kyle, made him _believe_ , he had something resembling control within this dream. 

And something about it all... just felt… _right_. Like this sort of fight between them was meant to happen for _years_ now.

The stars had aligned and paved way for this situation. 

But by the end of their fistfight— Kyle ends up pinned to ground, caught in a chokehold; blood seeping from his mouth, body bruised, and barely conscious.

Snarls escape Kyle’s throat as he feebly tries to overthrow the sociopath sitting atop him. 

But nothing Kyle does. _Works._

“Looks like I win this round, Jew.” Cartman grins. His eyes are _red._ Kyle can’t believe, that Cartman’s eyes, are actually _red._ Aren’t they brown? 

.

.

_Were_ they ever brown? 

“You’ve never brought me anything but trouble, Kyle,” Cartman growls, “You’re the reason behind all my problems in life.” 

Kyle gags as Cartman’s chokehold tightens. 

“I want you to _burn_. I want you to fucking experience the things I went through these last couple of weeks, you filthy Jew.” 

Tears start to stream down Kyle’s cheeks. “S-stop, Cartman...” Kyle utters weakly, eyes pleading. 

There’s something _else_ in Cartman’s eyes aside from murder intent, and _that_ frightens Kyle more than anything.

Cartman then releases his hold on Kyle and stands up, towering over Kyle’s torso. Kyle gasps as he tries to recollect his breath. 

“But don’t worry, Kyle. Even though I want _nothing_ more than to exact the same pain your people have done to me—and have been doing to me for more than a decade, that would be _too_ easy.” 

“I prefer to be creative, when it comes to these sorts of things.” Cartman snaps his fingers. 

Kyle breathes. Kyle breathes, because his mind is so frazzled and scared and _lost_ and — 

The cold surface of Cartman’s bedroom floor that Kyle’s back is pressed against is replaced with something that feels... different.

Wooden. 

The scent of cedar is strong in the air. 

Kyle tries to move; to get up from the floor, to stand up, and get to his feet and start fighting this bastard again—- But Kyle’s wrists and legs are fastened tight down against what the redhead feels like is... 

A cross. 

.

.

.

  
  


Kyle tries to break free from the bondage that holds him down— but he’s _chained._ Chains fasten both Kyle’s wrists and legs down to the cross, rendering him incapable of escape.

**_“Cartman!”_ ** Kyle shrieks. “Why am I chained down to a cross, Cartman?!” 

“Hey, don’t blame me. I’m just following the Prophecy.” Cartman answers.

“Prophecy?! What the fuck are you talking about?!” Kyle cries out. 

“I’ve always wondered what it’d feel like to dissect you alive.” Cartman’s words make Kyle’s blood go cold. Cartman’s eyes then glint with pleasure. “And I now have the opportunity to do so. I’m so... so, _blessed._ ”

Cartman then squats over Kyle and leans over to Kyle’s left ear to whisper— “And so are you, my little Jew.” 

“Cartman, stop this!” Kyle pleads. “Please... please, I don’t want this!” 

“But you do,” Cartman hums. “And so do I.” 

“Please! There has to be a way out of this! I’ll... I’ll do anything!”

Cartman flinches. 

“Anything?” Cartman breathes. 

Kyle gulps. “Just not this. Please.” 

Cartman slowly stands up again, still towering over Kyle. 

When Cartman looks down at Kyle, the brunet’s red eyes have reverted back into their original brown. 

And when Cartman speaks, he sounds... _confused_ , of all things. 

“... But there’s nothing you _could_ do that could replace something like this, though, Kyle. You don’t know how long I’ve _dreamed_ to have an opportunity like this.” 

Kyle whimpers. “You’re sick.”

“No, Kyle. Your _people_ are sick. Your _kind_ , is sick. Your _mere_ existence is sick.” 

Cartman then sighs. “But... hearing you beg for your life like that... it makes me wonder... What _would_ you be willing to do to get yourself out of this situation, _Kyle_?”

“Anything. Just, not this. I... I don’t want this.” 

Cartman’s irises turn cardinal. “But _you_ **_do_ ** want this. It’s all your little Jew heart ever thinks about— it’s all it ever _dreams_ about.” 

Cartman then shuts his eyes tightly, pinches the bridge of his nose with his left hand, and chuckles darkly, “When you’re not thinking of ways how to ruin my life, that is.” 

“Cartman, stop it already...” Kyle pleads. 

“Shut up, Kyle,” Cartman’s eyes are still shut tight as he speaks, and he speaks through gritted teeth. “Your begging isn’t making any of this easier for me.” 

Kyle whimpers, which prompts Cartman to hiss, “No. None of that, either. Just be quiet.” 

Surprisingly, Kyle obeys.

—

_Why are you hesitating, Eric?_

_Defile him._

_Kill him._

_Maim him, torture him, eradicate him._

_It’s what your Lord commands of you._

_Do it, Cartman._

. 

.

.

**_Do it, Cartman._ **

**_Do it._ **

_//Oh, I’ll do it, Lucy. You can be sure about that. But I’ll do it_ **_my_ ** _way.//_

“Listen up, Jewboy,” Cartman says as he looks down at Kyle. The brunet admittedly finds it amusing that Kyle has stopped trying to break free from the chains that hold him down.

“There’s no escaping your destiny.” Cartman continues. “You _will_ die, and you will die by **_my_ **hands. But I’m all about making this as enjoyable and as fun as humanly possible. For both you, and me.”

He then starts to laugh. He just keeps laughing, and laughing, and laughing —

Why is Cartman still _laughing_? Kyle panics internally. The Jew’s vision blurs. Kyle can’t even see straight anymore. 

When he looks up at Cartman, all Kyle sees is red in all its crimson glory. 

“You want an escape out of this labyrinth? An escape from the hell my Lord has in store for you? Then you better start practicing your Jewish faith properly. Because as it stands, I currently have a closer relationship to God than _you do,_ Jewboy.”

Kyle grits his teeth. “Cartman…” 

Cartman smiles.

“I look forward to seeing you again as you sleep, my little Jew.” 

Cartman then snaps his fingers with his left hand, and Kyle disappears. 

Cartman sighs, and looks at his bed. Polly Prissypants sits atop his pillow. 

“Lucy, you can come out now.” Cartman says warily. 

A blue flame envelops Polly. 

“Why didn’t you kill him?” The blue flame surrounding the doll asks. 

Cartman’s eyes water. 

“Because I have my _own_ cross to carry, and for those reasons, Kyle can’t die. Not yet.”

“Foolish boy. Do you understand what you’ve now done? You’re giving the Jew a chance to call upon forces that not even _I_ can defeat.”

“Do you _really_ believe that, Lucy? Do you truly believe that we can’t win?”

“Not with the way you’re going about things, we won’t.”

Cartman closes his eyes, turns around so that his back is facing the flame. 

“Forgive me, Lucifer.” Cartman murmurs. 

“Oh, my dear Eric… “ Lucifer’s voice murmurs, “Such a foolish boy, you are.” 

Cartman feels the heat from the fire slowly fade as Lucifer continues to speak. 

“Not as foolish as our Father in Heaven, but foolish nonetheless.”

  
  



End file.
